


Not Alone

by RideBoldlyRide



Series: Conversations in the Dark [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Katara (Avatar), F/M, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), I just wanted to get this sweeter thing out here, I needed some happy stuff!, Maybe one day i'll add the first day of ambassadorial duties..., Nice cuddling., The beginnings!, Zutara, no beta we die like jet, the no i love yous challenge, to make up for the last one that hurt a lot, zdas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/pseuds/RideBoldlyRide
Summary: Even Firelords reach their limits. Sometimes even the strongest people have their weakest moments. Maybe it just takes the right person to make sure we don't forget who we really are.***She turns her cheek into his shoulder. “This is the only legacy I have, Zuko. I am the last of my people, and I’m a half-person at that.”“No, Katara.” The liquor makes him brave, and he buries his nose into her hair. “You are the beginning of something new.”
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Conversations in the Dark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916614
Comments: 5
Kudos: 91
Collections: The No "I Love You" Challenge





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I felt an overwhelming need to write something else for this challenge. Something that was sweet and totally opposite of my other entry. So... Here it is, completely unbeta'd.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The scream is still on Zuko’s lips when he bolts upright in his bed. Dark hair clings to his sweat drenched face, his hand flying to his scarred cheek. His fingertips hover over the skin, before slowly dropping to the rippled edge. The touch draws him back into himself, but opens an ache behind his breastbone. For a long moment, he holds himself still, trying to school his breathing, but finds the attempt too difficult. 

In a sudden flurry of activity, he bolts from the bed, pulling a light robe over his lean frame, but pauses at the sight of the mostly empty bottle of fire whisky on the table by the door. Sucking in a deep breath, he snags it without a second thought, and softly closes the door behind him. His dismay is not enough to warrant waking the others, so he slowly makes his way through the opulent house, cautious to unnecessary noise. 

When he opens the doors to the empty white sands of his family’s private beach, he wonders at how long it has been since they had all gathered together at this hidden getaway. As he makes his way down to the beach he recalls those fateful days leading up to the war. 

Three years. It has been three years. To Zuko, it feels like thirty.

He settles just above the shoreline, bottle between his legs, elbows on his knees and tries to let the waves lull him into a meditative nothingness. The moon raises in degrees marked only by the swigs from the rapidly emptying bottle. 

It’s here that she finds him, his back on the sand, arm cast over his eyes, an empty bottle discarded beside him. She stands over him, a coy smile on her lips, as she clears her throat.

A single golden eye emerges from behind his arm. 

“Katara?”

“Hello, great and fear-inspiring Fire Lord. Is this a normal occurrence for his lordship?”

He snorts, dropping his arm to the side, but doesn’t say anything. Closing his eyes, he falls still until he feels the soft sand land on the exposed line of his collar bone. Nonplussed, his eyes pop open, taking in Katara’s playful expression as she squats over his head, slowly drizzling sand on him. 

Zuko sits up, brushing the sand from his chest, Katara chuckling behind him. She moves to sit by his side. Still chuckling as she settles, she pulls the soft blanket around her shoulders tighter.

“You’re cold?” A corner of his lips twitches up.

She raises a challenging brow. “And you’re not?”

A puff of fire escapes his quirked lips. “Firebenders, remember?”

She huddles deeper in the crimson cloth. “Show off.”

For a long moment, they sit in silence, the sound of the softly lapping waves the only thing between them. Katara breaks the silence first.

“So why  _ are _ you out here, Zuko?”

He scowls. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Yeah, you could, but I asked first.”

Zuko huffs, plucking the empty bottle from the sand, raising it to the moonlight. His scowl deepens.

“Bad dreams.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” She pauses for a moment, before reaching deep into her blanket. Her hand re-emerges with a bottle of something clear, and offers it to him. “Wanna drink it away?”

“Spirits  _ yes. _ ”

He reaches for the bottle only for her to snatch it back. Katara smirks.

“Allow me.”

Pulling in a deep breath, she releases it across the bottle and ice traces crystalline shapes across its glass surface. Zuko’s brow raises.

“New trick?”

She shrugs, but she can’t hide the smug expression on her face as she hands it back to him. “This stuff is always better chilled.”

He eyes it warily as he opens the top. It smells vaguely spicy like ground root, but fresh like citrus. “What is it?”

“A little something from home.”

He takes a swig, grimacing as it burns all the way down. Eyes watering, he hands it back to her. Without a second thought, she takes a long pull from the bottle, the only indication of the liquor’s potency is the hiss she sucks in through her teeth. She raises her brow as she offers it back. Zuko hesitates for a moment, before snatching it from her once more. 

It doesn’t burn as much the second time.

“So,” he says, sighing as the warmth grows in his belly, “if we’re not talking about me, then we’re talking about you.” A brow raises. “Why are you awake?”

Katara sighs as she pulls the bottle from his hand. Gesturing with it, she indicates the full moon bright in the sky. 

“Full moon?” His tone is skeptical. “That’s what brings you out here in the middle of the night?”

Her lips twist, and she avoids his gaze. 

When he speaks again, the words are soft. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” 

Blue eyes study the liquid that sloshes in the bottle, casting the moon’s glow back to her in fractured waves. 

“It is.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Her response is sharp and angry, but when she sighs, her shoulders melt. “Maybe. I don’t know anymore.”

“Then talk about what you want.”

“I…” She pauses slightly. “I guess I just don’t feel like I belong anywhere anymore.”

“What about the South Pole? Your home?”

She’s shaking her head before he even finishes. 

“It’s not the same anymore, Zuko. There’s so many outsiders, and none of them are my people, none of them like me, none of them  _ southern _ water benders. The last one…”

He gently offers up a name. “Hama?” 

This wasn’t the first time they had discussed the old woman or what had happened with and to her. 

“She’s the last one, Zuko. When she dies, all that she knows dies with her. And what does she choose to do with that knowledge?” Her tone shifts from lost to bitter in a span of a word. “She forces me to learn something that is so corrupted, that even in its truest form, I’m scared to _ death _ to use it!”

“Maybe if you try your hand--”

“Absolutely not.” Haunted eyes turn to him. “Zuko, you don’t understand. On nights like this one, I can feel, I can  _ hear _ every living thing’s heartbeat. I can feel that small sparrowkeet’s rapid beat. I can feel the massive torti-sloth’s slow but steady drum. And I can feel-- _ hear _ \-- yours.”

Her eyes are too bright, too sharp in the silvery moonlight, and when she turns them to him, tears fall like mercury down her cheeks. 

“Most nights, it’s a chorus, a beautiful harmony. Other nights-”

“-nights like tonight?” He offers, and she nods.

“It’s a choir of demons, whispering and screaming.”

Words die on his tongue and without thought, he pulls her close to him. 

She turns her cheek into his shoulder. “This is the only legacy I have, Zuko. I am the last of my people, and I’m a half-person at that.”

“No, Katara.” The liquor makes him brave, and he buries his nose into her hair. “You are the beginning of something new.” 

She stiffens in his arms, but doesn’t pull away, so he continues.

“You have the things that started your people, your culture, your upbringing. You take that with the things you have learned, the people you have learned from, the experiences you’ve had, and you mold it into something new. You may be the last waterbender of the South, but you're the Master of your own.”

She stirs and pulls back, but only enough to look at him properly. His hand cups her cheek, a thumb circling the swell of her cheek. 

“I have never seen someone bend like you do. I’ve never seen someone  _ like _ you, Katara. But that doesn’t make you alone.”

The smile that pulls at her lips is small and sad. “But it does you, doesn’t it?”

Zuko’s hand stills against her skin, but he doesn’t pull away. She pushes on.

“You really think that, don’t you?” Her words are soft and pained. “You’re not alone either, Zuko.”

He flashes a tight smile before retreating, once more draping his elbows across his knees.

“You got any more of that stuff?”

The sound of liquid is at his side, and he grabs it, taking a swig without pause. 

“It has something to do with your scar, doesn’t it?”

Her words feel like a blow across his back.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the story by now.” The words are bitter and escape him with petulance. 

“I’ve heard rumors. I don’t know which ones are true. And I think,” she pauses slightly before pressing on, “I think I would much rather hear the truth from you. If you want to tell it.”

“What’s there to tell? I stood up for the right thing, my father made me pay for it, and the rest is history.”

“What did you stand up for? What  _ happened _ ?”

A sigh escapes his lips, and he runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I defended men who would have died trying to serve their Fire Lord for no other reason than as bait. When I was commanded to an Agni Kai, I thought it was going to be that general. But it was my father.”

“Your father…” Her hand reaches out to touch the side of his face, but he turns away. 

“Yes. Then he banished me.” 

“That’s…”

“Cruel? Harsh? Unforgiving and unnecessary?”

“Evil. It’s evil, Zuko.”

He can’t prevent the snort that escapes him. Another swig of liquor goes down his throat, and this time, his throat warms at the sensation, but the burn is a mild afterthought.

“I think I might kill him if I ever meet him.” Zuko turns at her words, a chuckle on his lips until he spots the dark gaze of the waterbender upon the water. The laugh dies in his throat. 

"Katara--"

"-- Did you ever have any friends, Zuko? Before all of us?"

"Well, Mai and Ty Lee--"

"--were Azula's friends. Did  _ you _ ever have any friends?"

He pauses, her tone casting him back to lonely days feeding turtleducks or practicing his firebending under his father’s unforgiving eye. When he speaks, his voice is from those solitary moments.

“Friends were for children who didn’t need to catch up.”

“To Azula?”

“Yeah.” 

A long pause passes between them. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Katara building up to say something, her brow furrowed. The ache he long tried to suppress at the sight of her attempted to well up in his chest-- her concern for him, the righteous anger that she displayed in protection of him-- combined with the liquor made it hard to swallow down. Her lips pressed into a line, and she turned a piercing look towards him. 

“Why do you still believe him, Zuko?”

Protest rose in his throat only to stop behind his lips.

Three years. Three years, alone. Three years without a friend, without a confidant. Exhaustion was wearing heavy on his shoulders. There is nobody to turn to. Who is he supposed to--

His eyes catches hers and he realizes. Her. Them. They are his  _ friends _ . These are the people he was supposed to talk to. These are the people he needed to ask help from. Not…

Horror grows bitter at the back of his throat. The nightmare of only a few hours prior comes fresh back to mind. Confession-- He needs to confess…

“Katara, I…” The words stick.

Her hand comes to rest on his in the cool sands. He clutches to it, begging that she won’t turn away at what he was to say next. 

“I went to see my father.” 

She furrows her brow, but otherwise remains silent. Zuko presseson, but no longer meets her eye.

“I asked him for advice.”

Her hand tightens on his. “About what?”

Zuko’s free hand runs through his hair. He shrugs. “All of it.”

The past three years flashes before his eyes: the assassination attempts, the irritable councilmen, the unreasonable offers of angry foreign representatives, the belittling discussions of his youth, his past, his future. Clear as day, he can see the nightmare in his mind eye becoming reality. Fury and anger blossoming in his chest until it explodes from him, destroying all the peace he’s fought so hard for. The throne rooms in flames, the dragon throne as imposing as it ever was in his youth, servants kowtowing in fear, scorched representatives being sent home as a warning. 

Bile raises in his throat. He tries to talk around it.

“I’m alone. There are so many demands, so many expectations-- some reasonable, some irrational. I’m trying to make it all work, but there are times… I just don’t know what to do.” He pauses. “There are times where I can understand why my father just kind of…  _ forced _ things to happen. Demanded them to happen, damn the consequences.”

Zuko turns to her, eyes too bright. “I don’t want to become him, Katara.”

Slack-jawed, she meets his gaze. He starts to pull away, trying to get to his feet, but her grip stays tight. Gently, she pulls at his hand, but his eyes stay focused on the horizon. 

“Zuko.” Her second hand comes to his shoulder. “Zuko, please look at me.”

His jaw is tight, and he swallows hard before tentatively looking at her. Katara’s face is schooled into a tender expression. “Zuko, let me say one thing right now.” Blue eyes drill into his. “You are not your father. And I have every reason to believe that you will never become him.”

The earnestness in her voice cuts him deeply. “How can you know that? I resorted to his advice-- the advice of a man who wanted to burn the  _ world down _ . Who ran his own country to destitution to fund his war machine.” Tears start to well in his eyes, a few escaping to slide down his cheeks. “How can you possibly trust me?”

A soft smile tugs at her lips, and brushes at his scarred and tear-streaked cheek. “This right here. Zuko, if you didn’t care, this wouldn’t bother you as much.”

If he was asked, he would say that it was the liquor. But at her touch, he leans in, eyes squeezing shut. She smiles at the motion, leaning further in. 

“And we have failed  _ you _ if you feel alone.” 

He jumps at her words, a protest on his lips, but she puts a hand up. 

“No, Zuko. We have and I am  _ so sorry _ that you have felt so alone.”

“I--” The words falter, his free hand coming to the back of his neck. “Katara, I--”

“Can I run something by you?” Suddenly shy, she seems to retreat, but still keeps a firm hand on his. 

Startled by her sudden change, his brow furrows, but he nods.

Sucking in a breath, she seems to gather her will and pulls her back straight.

“Zuko, my dad has been talking a lot. We know that the North has sent a representative to your court.”

“Yeah, right after the war.”

“But we haven’t.”

His eyes grow wide. “I asked--”

Her upraised hand stops him, a laugh at the corner of her mouth. “I know. But we didn’t have anything to offer at the time.” She sobers. “But things have changed. We’ve grown and rebuilt-- a lot of that is because of you.”

Zuko shakes his head. “Not just me. There’s a whole group of peo--”

She stops his depreciating speech with her fingers to his lips. “Take the compliment.” Her hand shifts, cupping his cheek. “You should do it more often.”

“...okay.”

When she withdraws her hand, he shudders, already missing it’s warmth. In the companionable space between them, she continues. 

“So, since we’ve rebuilt, my father feels like it might be wise to have a voice at the important circles of the world.”

Zuko quirks his head. “So he’s sending an ambassador?”

She nods. “Yeah. Me.”

“You?” He practically squeaks out the word, but the look of hurt pauses the smile that tries to grow on his lips. 

“I mean, if you want somebody else at your table, I’ll go to Ba Sing Se instead.”

“No!” Zuko’s hand tightens on hers, and he captures her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face towards him. “No,” his voice is calmer, “I very much would like it to be you.”

The soft smile that lights up her face is enough to luminate the night, and he easily finds himself matching it. 

“Then it’s set. I was hoping to talk with you about it during this trip, and now I know just how much it could do-- for a lot of people.” Something shifts in her eyes, and he can’t quite tell if it’s the stars, or if the moonlight reflects off her eyes like it does the gentle waves, but it’s there and he wants nothing more than to study it. “But I think, most importantly, for you, Zuko.”

If asked later, he should say it was the liquor. But Zuko is, if nothing else, an honest man. And if he was being honest, this feeling that danced like fire but chilled like ice in his stomach had been there for far too long. 

So instead, he leans in, his hand sliding from her chin down her jawline. Her eyes flit between his lips and his gaze. He holds every sensation in his memory, every shudder, every breath. And when their lips touch, the sigh that escapes her is full of an emotion impossible to name but sounds like ‘ _ finally’ _ . 

* * *

When the navy blues start to purple and the stars begin to fade, Katara shuffles against him and he sighs. Pulling her tighter to his side and breathing more warmth into his core, they begin to stir. Sleepy blue eyes meet his, and for a moment he panics until her face erupts in a world-shifting smile. Her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth, and he places a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“I will say, Master Katara,” she smiles up at his playfully serious tone, “I look forward to working with you for the betterment of both our societies.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in her eyes and she presses tighter against him. “I think I will prefer our backroom agreements, I must say.”

His face is aghast, but he doesn’t try to hide the smile that is trying to pull at his lips. “How scandalous!”

“That doesn’t sound like a complaint.”

Zuko lets the pretense fall, curling to bring her face closer to his, but pauses a hair’s breadth away. “No complaints at all.”

  
  



End file.
